Competition
by FinalRemuneration
Summary: He had a daily ritual that occurred every morning between his classes, a daily ritual that left him both frustrated and angry. But of course, today, something falls out of normality.


_**A/N: I feel like it's been forever! Anyway, here's a One-Shot so I can get back into the swing of writing. Also, I have just found the gold mine known as AO3, so youcan also find me there under the same name. ^^**_

 **Disclaimers: I still don't own Durarara or any of these lovely characters. They all still belong to Ryohgo Narita (who is fabulous, might I add. ^^)**

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"Are you... serious?" He scoffed loudly, letting his head fall back and his hands dropped to the table, the black 3DS between his fingers smashing dangerously against the wooden surface. There was a multitude of other things he could have been doing: the forgotten stats homework, the English paper that he was sneakily trying to convert from Japanese, maybe even responding to his own brother via email. Anything. Anything except for what he was choosing to do, despite the backpack, text book and binder sitting innocently on the table before him, offering him productivity. "Fucking... little... shit..."

He growled loudly, nearby people tensing and glancing quickly his way. He was sitting in the food court, tucked away towards the back corner where it was less populated and just a fraction quieter than the rest of the building. There were still a dozen people around him, and weary eyes all turned to focus on him, sending a flush across his face as he attempted to melt into his chair. His eyes squeezed shut as anger pulsated through his skull while sweetly suggesting: _maybe you should just pick up this table and throw it._ It was a tempting thought. Very tempting. But he was on a record streak for _not_ doing such things, and he really wanted to keep it that way. Celty would be disappointed in him, and that was the only thing that managed to erase the thought.

Inhaling deeply through his nose, he held his breath for a complete second before exhaling through his mouth. A little trick Shinra had taught him in preparation for the ever so stressful and infuriating life of a university student – a statement that had proven itself to be true in due time.

But even that deep breath didn't satisfy the twitch in his fingers.

He was Heiwajima Shizuo, and he had a problem.

A very angry problem that normally resulted with him throwing impossible things.

And the most recent topic to hit his 'angry in less than point three seconds' list happened to be a game. A simple game. A _Pokemon_ game.

But the game itself wasn't the problem. He had gotten through it just fine, and if anything, he was one of the top trainers to compete online. His little icon, Delic, had become quite the superstar in the Pokemon world, holding less than ten losses to his name. People challenged him all the time, and sometimes he would lose, but on the rematch, he would always win.

Until last week.

Last week when a particular trainer by the name of 'Psyche' decided to enter and ruin his life. Even thinking about it forced a twitch in his eyebrow, eyes still squeezed shut as he ever so gently placed down the 3DS, lest he break it. The name combination was rather ironic, 'Psyche' and 'Delic' sitting at the top of the tournament throne, but something so simple wouldn't piss him off. Not to this extent.

The guy was simply unbeatable.

He linked his fingers together before breathing out again. Eyes slowly slid open and he glanced down the screen once more stating that he had lost the battle. Again. Just like every day, at exactly nine-eighteen in the morning. He couldn't quite pinpoint what about the situation made him so angry. He couldn't tell if it was the way the guy continued to change his party, always triumphing and sending out the unknown, or if it was the almost cruel message that he received afterward, a simple 'Until next time ;)'. It could have been the fact that his opponent had decided to match his colour scheme, and they had changed it every day until Shizuo had given up with just letting them go in pink and white. It also could have simply been the fact that he was a sore loser, who had been sitting at the top of the food chain for too long, winning simply because of power and not because of strategy.

Or maybe it was a combination of everything.

"Fuck." Heiwajima Shizuo had a problem. And instead of being the better man and accepting defeat, he decided to change up the daily routine of accepting his loss. He quickly changed screens so that he could challenge the oh so cheery _Psyche_ to a rematch. "God damn idiot." Of course he would change his party first. Maybe focus on his water types, like his Blastoise was a beast and Vaporeon could definitely hold her own. Now that he thought about it, Psyche did seem to use a lot of fire types. But perhaps they weren't _just_ fire types. "Damn type disadvantages."

His request was accepted, and five minutes later, Shizuo was staring at another defeat. He hadn't even taken out Psyche's Eevee, and _that_ was quite insulting.

Seething hot anger washed across his face, fingers clenching so hard that the 3DS almost broke. But the hot anger ran cold when he heard nearby laughing, a sound almost melodic in nature, but unsettling to his ears.

A couple tables away, a single guy was sitting with his elbows propped up atop his bag, red 3DS glinting in his hands. The table was tucked into the corner further away from everyone else, the slight form leaning against the wall while facing Shizuo. He was still snickering to himself when he caught Shizuo's gaze, russet eyes catching and turning his head to full on stare. The smile stuck to his lips, pale complexion seeming to warm, and he lightly tilted his head to allow the few stray strands of hair fall out of his gaze.

Shizuo clicked his tongue, honey eyes momentarily wandering. The guy was wearing a black leather jacket, all of the belts and clasps hanging open to expose a baggy crimson shirt. He doubted this stranger was Psyche, his ever so irritating rival. Things like that only happened in fan fiction.

Deciding to ignore the nearby guy, because honestly, Shizuo didn't really get along with anyone, he decided to look away and to just continue on playing on like he had been. Peacefully. Plus, if he stared to wrong, the guy might get creeped out, or worse, get the wrong idea.

Ten seconds later – Shizuo didn't even have time to save, dammit – another bag was dropping onto the round table right beside his own, and the scrawny little guy with the red DS was dropping into the chair beside him. The system was closed, and set on the table almost carefully. "Hey hey, I couldn't help but notice you were playing something." He said rather conversationally, his voice light and cheerful. Confidence radiated off of him like a thick stench, making Shizuo crinkle his nose.

There was something about his tone that made Shizuo's eyebrow twitch again. He closed his own system without saving, tossing it towards his binder. "I see." He didn't even bother looking towards the other. He wanted to snap _what do you even want_ , but managed to refrain, once again for Celty's sake.

She would be so proud.

"Might I ask what you're playing?" The stranger questioned, eyes following Shizuo's hands as he reached for his textbook, papers jutting out messily here and there. He might as well get the stats homework done. He eyes his new _friend_ stiffly, not quite sure what to make of the question. _There's no way..._

"No." Shizuo said simply, forehead cringing as he tried to ignore the pest sitting beside him. Human beings weren't his forte, and even outside of his home town, people had come to associate him with his ridiculous strength. People normally kept their distance. Rather, _smart_ people normally kept their distance. So _who the hell is this guy!?_ He was clearly mad and the students from the nearest table had even moved.

"Awh, why not." Pouting. Shizuo snuck a glance to see the stranger pouting, bottom lip jutting out and his already small eyes narrowing more. While acting childish, he didn't look like a little kid. He looked like a threat who could and would stab someone. There was just something about him that seemed... _fake_. "You see, that's no fun. You're Heiwajima Shizuo, right? The monster of Ikebukuro!? How exciting! Even monsters who call themselves men can play games!"

Face twitching, the front cover of the text book bent inwards. Shizuo shot the stranger a point glare. "And who the hell are you?"

"Eh, me? I'm Orihara Izaya. Nice to make your acquaintance." He grinned broadly, showing off perfect white teeth while outstretching a hand, as if expecting Shizuo to shake it. Shizuo merely glanced at it, letting the second turn into another in complete silence. The stranger, how ever, wasn't deterred. "Oh, but then again, we've already met."

"Huh?" Hand still clenching the text book, Shizuo's eyes narrowed. He was going to lose it. Celty was going to be disappointed and - _who is this asshole!?_ "We what?"

"We've already met," He repeated, smiled still present on his face and he squeezed his eyes shut just for the effect. "But of course, I wouldn't expect a protozoan like you to understand what a God like me is saying without some form of an explanation."

Shizuo could feel his blood pressure rising, his heart rate increasing, and he control waning. Someone was going to die, and it wasn't going to be painless. He wasn't quite sure _who_ this Izaya character thought he was, or why he was insisting on _insulting_ the _beast_ of _Ikebukuro._ He was labeled the strongest man for a reason, and clearly this over-confident rat was too stupid to understand why that might be.

"The hell are you talking about?"

Izaya's eyes suddenly cracked open, iris's glinting playfully, "I met you last week, Delic-san."

Shizuo's hand twitched, and suddenly the text book was airborne, slamming down where the strangers face should have been.

Izaya was already up and standing beside the chair in a flash, his bag slung across his shoulders and his hands disappearing into his pockets. A bright smile plastered itself across his face in a condescending manner, just as the text book slammed into the seat of what was previously his chair. He tilted his head back, taking the moment to glance _down_ on Shizuo like he were a demon lurking above. "It was good to officially meet you in person, Shizu-chan, but I gotta run now. Take care not to break any more tables~ No wonder our tuition was so high this year!"

"HUH!?" Shizuo glared, standing up from his chair so fast that it was knocked over. It clattered loudly to the floor – maybe even broke for all he knew – and the silence that came with it was deafening. "Who ARE you?"

"Ehhh~ I told you! I'm Orihara Izaya! You better remember that, though judging by the way you battle, you probably can't even remember what kind of Pokemon you picked, let alone their nicknames." Izaya giggled, taking a skipping step back.

"What the fuck do you want from me!?"

"Oh, Shizu-chan, you shouldn't yell so loudly. I'm pretty sure they can hear you outside of campus!" Izaya turned, glancing over his shoulder. "And I was just curious. Didn't think someone like you'd be the legendary Delic-san to be honest. I guess you're just a surprising guy!"

"Shut up!" Shizuo roared, taking a step closer. The nearest table was about to become rubble beneath his finger tips. "And stay the hell away from me!"

Izaya sighed, like a parent tired of a small child's antics. "Such bad words, Shizu-chan. And no can do~ Shinra told me all about you and you're not a hard guy to miss, so I figured it'd be kind of me to introduce myself finally."

Finally? Because that made _everything_ better. "What's Shinra doing, hanging around louses like you?"

Izaya smirked, a split of his lips so disgusting that Shizuo suddenly felt the silent threat the other posed. It only seemed to enrage him more, however. "The same thing he's doing, hanging around with monsters like you. Anyway, gotta run, Shizu-chan, I'll see you tomorrow at the usual time!" He started giggling again before running off, waving his hand with his thumb and first two fingers sticking up. "Until next time! Bye-bye-bee~"

And just like that, the slight man disappeared into the crowd. One second he was there, and the next, he was simply gone.

Shizuo sneered, eyes still flickering around, before slowly regaining his composure – what just happened? - and gently stooping down to right his fallen chair. He slumped into it, staring at the crowds of people as they continued to flock by, confusion and lingering irritation present on his face. His breath returned to normal – he hadn't even realized that he had been panting – and he vaguely noted that his hands were shaking from his anger. What even happened? The entire ordeal had been so... surreal that Shizuo was almost convinced he had fallen asleep and was currently dreaming. Why didn't Shinra mention this friend before? How did someone so attractive disappear in the crowd like that?

He scoffed, flipping his textbook open so violently that he almost ripped the contents clean from the spine. He didn't have the energy or time to deal with this, to deal with _that._ Thankfully still, he hadn't thrown anything or hurt anybody. Celty wouldn't be disappointed. He skimmed the page quickly in an attempt to distract himself, before his brain settled on a particular detail about the confrontation.

"SHIZU-CHAN!?" What kind of nickname was that?

Growling, he slammed his book back closed and vowed to claim his regular spot next time, inhabited by a student or not. He wasn't sitting on this side of the building ever again, actually, he might even switch buildings just to avoid that creep, and if he ever saw that lousy smirk in the hallways...

He'd win this little game, whatever it was. Somehow.

Until then, he needed to look up type advantages.


End file.
